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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23686201">if i'm gonna let's die somewhere pretty</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/poludeuces/pseuds/poludeuces'>poludeuces</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fate/Grand Order, Fate/strange fake</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Descriptions of Blood, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, this is angst</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 16:53:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,496</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23686201</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/poludeuces/pseuds/poludeuces</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>in the middle of death, dumas heals dantes</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Edmond Dantès | Avenger/Alexandre Dumas | False Caster</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>if i'm gonna let's die somewhere pretty</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>just some things</p><p>- reference to dumas' np. this may be a spoiler for some people.<br/>- i hc that dumas is a bronze servant with no heal skill in the game<br/>- references to character death with descriptions of blood</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The mission had not been successful.</p><p>Dumas winces as he makes his way from the fray. His side screams at him, and when he reaches down to touch it, his hands are dyed red. He must have broken a couple of ribs in the fall and they have punctured his internal organs. His ankle rolls with each step, and he has to reach out against the wall of the alley to support himself. He stumbles along in the darkness.</p><p>Liquid bubbles in his mouth and he leans down to spit the blood out. His vision blurs and he has to take deep breaths in order to keep going. His lungs are in agony. Moving is hell, but he must continue forward.</p><p>He has been in duels before, back in his old life. He’s been in grail wars. But this is much worse. </p><p>The last remnants of mana bubble underneath his skin. He feels like a coward. </p><p>Ritsuka is gone.</p><p>And here he is, scrambling away from the scene.</p><p>He knows he cannot live. He cannot heal himself. He was never versed in healing magic, nor was he ever good at helping himself. Even if he could, he would not last long. He does not have a master to tie him down to this world. He is no archer. Eventually he will fade into golden dust.</p><p>Dumas curses as his eyes finally settle in the darkness and land on the mass of black at the end of the alley. Anyone else may have thought it was nothing, just the way the light hits, and ignored it. But he has seen the hell, the mass of entangling black fire, and knows who it is immediately.</p><p>If he was a wreck, Dantes was worse.</p><p>He’s covered himself in his hellish flame to try and hide some of the damage. Dumas was never frontline, rather he was often brought in to help strengthen Dantes as he sped through enemies as their offensive.</p><p>His hair is a mess, the stark white painted with blood. His clothes are tattered and now his cape does a terrible job at hiding anything. His knee is bent in a shape that is not healthy. Dumas notices that he’s holding his arm onto his stomach, and each time he takes a breath, red drips from the wound, dyeing his gloves.</p><p>But his eyes are still a tiger’s, a harsh golden with the cross digging into Dumas’ soul.</p><p>“C’est déjà-vu, no?” Dumas asks, moving to sit down in front of Dantes. The other doesn’t push at him leave, just adjusting his legs so Dumas can shuffle in closer. His ribs scream at him at the feeling of being crushed more, and Dumas sits up as straight as he can to try and slow the damage. </p><p>He closes his eyes, trying his best to remember memories from his life. He remembers the look of Dantes, doubled over in pain, body destroyed as a consequence of vengeance. Dumas remembers the knife against his throat, the threat of death, the bandages on Dantes’ neck and hands. Those times seem like eons away now, a life he never lived.</p><p>“Looks like we have truly lost,” Dumas sighs. </p><p>He doesn’t expect Dantes to respond to him. He’s grown used to be the only one talking. It figures, he was the author.</p><p>Blood bubbles up again and he wipes his mouth. He sighs at the crimson on his hands. The taste of iron has flooded his senses. He suddenly misses cooking.</p><p>“Now all of your teeth are red, demon,” Dantes bites at him. His eyes are angry. </p><p>Dumas knows that he isn’t angry at him, though. He’s angry at himself for Ritsuka. Dumas will take the blows if it’ll help him feel better.</p><p>Dumas flashes his teeth in a smile and cocks his head, “Does it look good? Should I make them all red?” He can’t keep the pose for very long as more blood floods his tongue, so he ducks his head back down and studies the pavement. </p><p>His mana is dwindling. His body feels tired. He’s nothing—even Shakespeare and Andersen could have maybe healed Dantes here. Dantes had some agency, some freedom to go where he pleased. Maybe if he had been more useful, he could have healed him.</p><p>Dantes shrugs his shoulders and winces at the pain in his gut. “I mean…Anything would be an improvement at this point.”</p><p>“Hey, no need to insult a dying man.”</p><p>The alley descends into silence. Dumas’ eyes glance up at the man in front of him. Millions of memories come to mind. He had not expected to be by his side upon death, but it’s fitting—they seemed to be tied together. In life and after.</p><p>“But…if I had been better, I could have helped you,” Dumas sighs. </p><p>He doesn't even know what he would want Dantes to do. Perhaps, if he healed him, he could go off and find a new master. They could fix things. Then, maybe, he could be resummoned, and he could smile at knowing that he helped orchestrate the continuation of humanity. </p><p>A foolish dream, really. </p><p>“Dumas,” Dantes croaks out. His voice sounds scratchy. Dumas hates it.</p><p>This is not the version of Dantes he wants to see. This is not the way Dumas wants to remember him. He prays that the throne will wipe away this scene from his memory.</p><p>“How much mana do you have left?” His eyes are serious. He swallows deep. Dumas was always drawn to those lips—he had compared him to a vampire in his novels.</p><p>“I’m not sure how much mana you would get from me,” Dumas sighs but he slowly rolls his shirt sleeve up to reveal his wrist. If he’s being honest with himself, he would prefer the romantic vampiric method—Dantes’ incisors digging deep into his neck and sucking him for everything he’s worth—but he’s unsure if the two in their state could do that.</p><p>He shuffles closer and thrusts his wrist out. Dantes is studying him.</p><p>Dumas is alright with this. He has spent his life making Dantes better. If he cannot heal him, then he can at least live on with Dumas’ mana. </p><p>Dantes sighs and shakes his head, “No, I couldn’t.” </p><p>He doesn’t fight on it with him, instead just rolling his sleeve back down. They don’t move. In the distance Dumas can hear the sounds of battle. The sounds of the enemies seem to be quietened—perhaps it’s because he’s focusing on every noise Dantes makes. Every time he slows down, Dumas holds his breath. It takes him everything to do so—he feels his body waning. But he cannot die after Dantes.</p><p>“Can you use your noble phantasm?” Dantes asks before launching himself into a coughing fit. Tears roll down his cheeks and Dumas fights the desire to cup his face and wipe them.</p><p>“My noble phantasms could barely heal you, you’re no longer a human,” Dumas explains. His noble phantasm always worked best at elevating humans—their side effects were complicated for servants.</p><p>Dantes sighs and rests his head against the brick, revealing his pale and sweaty neck. He lets out a small chuckle.</p><p>“I’ve never been human, Dumas.”</p><p>“You and I both know your story, Dantes.”</p><p>“Then ease me, Dumas,” Dantes lifts his bloody hand from his stomach and holds it out for the other. He takes it, feeling the gloves against his skin. “Bring me back.”</p><p>“I can only show you scenes from my own life.” </p><p>“I know,” Dantes nods. </p><p>“Is there something in particular you would like to see?” Dumas wracks his brain for ideas. He knows his meeting with Haydee is a favourite of his, or perhaps he would like to revisit their first meeting. He remembers replaying scenes of Ritsuka for him previously—but the blood in his mouth threatens to spill out at the mere thought of seeing Ritsuka’s face again.</p><p>“Take me home, Dumas,” he whispers.</p><p>Ah yes, home.</p><p>Dumas covers his hand the other, and he closes his eyes. He pulls the rest of his mana and pushes it to his own noble phantasm: “Musketeer’s Masquerade.”</p><p>Sunny, warm days in Marseille dance around them. He had spent many days as a tourist and a researcher there, and he remembers all he can—the way the streets turned, the way the sun hit your face midday, the way the smell of salt and fish stuck near the docks, the sea’s breeze and the lap of the waves along the coast. He remembers the fishermen and their wives, the young men all dressed to go to war in Algeria, the mothers and their children, the chefs and the bakers, the Southern French accent that sounded off to Parisians.</p><p>“Yes,” he hears Dantes whisper.</p><p>His mana flickered—he would not be able to hold this for very long. But surrounded by a dying world, Dantes’ hand in his palms felt like an anchor.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>- title comes from troye sivan's 'take yourself home', which i have been listening to on repeat while writing this<br/>- i am in angst mood<br/>- i have a cute fanfic in the works for these two, i promise not all of my eddumas love is angst or porn lol<br/>- i hope you guys are keeping safe. i love you.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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